celine dion
by archy the cockroach
Summary: demyx and marluxia have a conversation on a bench. [crack]


"So, if you ever moved to Las Vegas, what would you do?"

Marluxia cast Demyx a rather… interesting expression. The blonde returned the look with a goofy smile, and a half-hearted shrug of the shoulders. "You kind of remind me of Gollum, with a face like that," said Demyx, poking Marluxia's shoulder. The brunette batted Demyx's hand away, though not at all angry.

"You are such an imbecile."

Demyx grinned, sidling up to the long-haired brunette, leaning his head on Marluxia's shoulder. "So, what would you do if you went to Las Vegas? Tell me, tell me, tell me!"

Marluxia scowled, casually pushing Demyx with one hand. With Demyx leaning against him, it dug his shoulder-blades into the rough surface of the splintered, old park bench they happened to occupy, and that wasn't a pleasant sensation, to say the least. "Well, I would shoot Siegfried," stated Marluxia, with a slight nod of his head. Demyx scowled, bringing his head back up to face the older man.

"Why?" questioned the blonde, crossing his arms in defiance. Marluxia scoffed, shaking his head. "Is it that stupid magician-phobia that you have? Come on, Marly, that's just _mean_!"

The brunette rolled his eyes at Demyx's childish display, and turned his body away from the other man. He could feel Demyx's eyes leering into the back of his neck, and he could practically imagine the voodoo curses falling off of the blonde's lips. Really, he was just being anal about it, because Demyx was positively _in love_ with Siegfried and Roy, because they were such great entertainers. "And then I would shoot Roy."

"What's wrong with Roy?" shouted Demyx, attracting the attention of several passersby. An old woman with her grandchild quickly turned her attention away, cooing to the little girl about how 'you shouldn't do drugs'.

"I hate tigers," responded Marluxia, his nose up in the air. Demyx was almost pulling his hair out, he was so infuriated with Marluxia's irrational words. He had no idea how this conversation had come about, but it probably was just for wasting time. Or waste Demyx's brain. As if it were that hard, really.

"What else would you do?" mumbled Demyx, attempting to get something _realistic _out of Marluxia. The brunette finally turned back to face Demyx, his expression anything but defensive, with his ankles crossed and his position slouched, ever so slightly. Somehow, Marluxia could do that without looking like a total slob, while Demyx seemed to come off as a couch-potato, no matter what he did.

"Shoot Celine Dion," voiced Marluxia, and Demyx was soon thrown back into his fit of hysteria. It was a wide-known fact that he _loved _Celine, and usually used her songs to annoy the hell out of Axel, who had ears only for screaming music.

Following a cry of anguish, Demyx squealed, "WHY CELINE?" Marluxia just gave a deep chuckle, flicking Demyx's nose with a slight smirk.

"And then I would shoot Celine Dion again. Just to make sure."

Demyx smacked his head against the bench. The old woman with her grandchild about took off running down the street, avoiding any type of eye-contact with Marluxia, who just happened to be giving them a friendly wave. Deciding that he was well past the point of sanity, Demyx decided to throw the finishing touches on his mountain of misery. "What would you do, then?"

"Leave the country, with you and Axel following me," decided Marluxia, with a slight bob of his head. Demyx shook his head, not believing what the hell he was hearing. Normally, Marluxia was the only rational, normal one of their odd little group. He managed to keep a straight head in all situations, whether he was as drunk or high as Demyx or Axel. After all, it was Marluxia who'd sterilized the pins before Demyx (in a pot-induced high) lovingly decided to push them through Axel's nipples.

"Why in hell would you bring us?" said Demyx, his voice oozing with sarcasm. He laid back on the bench, dropping his head onto Marluxia's lap, despite the meager mental torture he was feeling. He couldn't imagine _anyone _ever shooting Celine Dion. After all, she was so _lovely_. Everyone loved Celine!

Marluxia looked down at Demyx, cocking an eyebrow at the frowning blonde man. He had just opened his mouth to say something, when he had a sharp tap of pain in the back of his head. Snapping his neck around, he found an amused Axel looking at the both of them. "Sorry I was late, you guys. Larxene needed some help cleaning up the café, so I watched her work, instead," snorted the red head, running a thin hand through Marluxia's hair.

Demyx bolted upright, immediately. "Okay, so can we go home now? Marly was being a meany-head, and he threatened to kill Celine Dion!" moaned Demyx, before he was abruptly pulled to his feet by his sleeve. He found a very pissed little red head, staring up at him. "And I'm hungry! I want spaghetti!"

"Celine Dion deserves to die!" shouted Axel, quickly turning away from either of the two men and charging off towards the direction of the house. "And I'm making chicken tonight, so screw off!" Marluxia scoffed, standing up and quickly cracking his back. Casting a look to Demyx, his lip quirked up into a little smile.

"As an answer to your prior question…" he began, crossing his arms once again. He leaned on his right leg, creating something of an arrogant stance for the blonde. Demyx returned that very conceitedness with both hands on his hips, eyebrow raised in defiance.

"Yeah?"

Bolting forwards, at the last second, Marluxia knocked Demyx back down onto the bench. The blonde had opened his mouth to protest, when he found a pair of very chapped lips pressed against his own. Demyx fully intended to either jab his tongue into Marluxia's very open mouth, or knee him in the crotch, but before he could come upon a good decision, the brunette had pulled away.

"Who the hell would I fuck if both of you were gone?"

**End.

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oh, how i hate celine dion. her, her sappy music, her scary husbandand her creepy baby portraits. -shiver- 


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